And I'm onto my final unread Jane Austen novel. Lift your hands up.
Squirrely vomit-inducing family drama-rama aside, the following has my tummy in a bind:
1. check engine light, flitting in and out of existence.
2. check brakes light, ditto.
3. balding tires.
4. um, no heat. which, IMO, is the most distressing item since I like live in Buffalo. And it's November.
But I won't let the Silver Bullet get me down because I had a mighty fine weekend. Halloween is the only holiday that actually gets radder once you become an adult. Christmas, Thanksgiving, eh. More depressing than anything, and they're usually workdays for me, anyway. Halloween, on the other hand, is always a good time. Provided you don't spend it with your head in the toilet. As kids you get to eat all the candy you want; as adults you get to drink all the beer you want. Maybe try the best of both worlds with a Sam Adams Chocolate Bock. Whoa baby.
Tanget: I sat Rick Jeanneret at work. Always cool to encounter sports-related celebrities (sort of). Except for that one time when Paul Gaustad's girlfriend/date was totally rude to me. Skank.
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